


Layers

by MyChemicalRachel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shrek AU, because why the hell not, but instead of ogres, he's a werewolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalRachel/pseuds/MyChemicalRachel
Summary: Cursed by a fairy, Stiles was destined to live his life locked away from human interaction. By day he was a normal boy, but when night fell Stiles took the form of a wolf.[Scrolling through Tumblr, I saw something tagged "sterek au" and misread it as "shrek au." Then this happened...]





	

It was a precaution, they said.

It’s temporary, just until we find a cure.

At first, Stiles had believed them. He was young then. Naive. Hopeful.

As the years passed, and Stiles withered away in that cabin, his hope started to fall away like the chipping stones of the surrounding walls. He entertained himself in any way possible. First it was exploring, but there was only so much discovering to be done in his new prison. There was no one to talk to, no voice other than his own to keep him company. So he talked to himself. It was probably crazy, but it felt like the only thing keeping him sane. After so long, he hated the sound of his own voice.

Stiles kept track of days, then months, and years. Days and nights flashing by like pictures, too far away to reach, just beyond that barred window.

The only thing that kept him alive was the promise his dad had made, the last thing he’d said before building the prison around Stiles;

_ “I’ll be back for you. I’ll find a cure and I’ll come back.” _

Thirteen years, as the marks showed him, had passed. And still a sliver of hope remained. His dad would come back for him, he had to. He’d promised.

As Stiles scratched another mark into the stone, he felt the change take hold. Just like it did every night. The sky outside turned an orange color as the sun sank beneath the horizon. It would have been pretty, but the sunset triggered the curse. The curse that turned Stiles into a monster. And he knew that nothing about that could be pretty.

When he was ten, his mother died. She was attacked by a wolf, just outside of town late one night. By the time the police found her body, it was almost beyond recognition. Stiles had seen the pictures, they’d been burned into his brain.

It was in their time of grieving that Stiles’ dad made a rash decision; John tried to bargain with a woodland fairy, he wanted to catch the monster that killed his wife, to avenge her. But the fairy was not happy. To call one of her creatures a monster when it was merely an animal acting on basic instinct was infuriating. The fairy would not kill the wolf. Instead, she enacted the curse.

“By night one way, by day another,” the fairy told him. “This shall be the norm, ‘til he finds true love’s first kiss, then take love’s true form.”

Without further explanation, the fairy vanished. When the sun set that night, Stiles’ bones began to shift. His flesh peeled away to expose rough fur underneath. His teeth and fingernails fell away, one by one, replaced with sharp, pointed ones. Stiles screamed, the pain unbearable. And then suddenly the screams stopped and he was howling instead. As his clothes tore, slipping to the floor in shreds, John was left staring at a wolf in his son’s place.

Stiles ran. He didn’t know what else to do. It felt as if the trees, the moon, were calling to him. Beckoning. He followed.

In the morning, John found Stiles, his naked human body dirty but unscathed, lying on the front lawn.

It was then that John made the decision to build the concrete cabin, the single-room cell with no doors and one tiny barred window, and Stiles was locked away.

And locked away he remained for thirteen years until one day, the stone walls holding him in began to fall away. Crumbling to bits of dirt on the floor. When the dust settled and the blinding sunlight filtered into the room, Stiles was faced with a man. Ripped jeans and a dirty henley. Not quite a knight in shining armor. There was a bloody baseball bat in his grip, where sharp claws bit into the wood and a pickaxe discarded on the ground just beyond the broken stone. It’s when Stiles’ gaze traveled up to the stranger’s face that his breath caught.

Red eyes peered back at him. Glowing, vibrant red eyes. Fur, or maybe just facial hair, spattered the man’s cheeks and chin. His ears were pointed and his bare brow bones stuck out, tugging down into a frown.

“Well, come on,” he nearly growled. He jerked the baseball bat toward the newly made exit. Beyond him, there was freedom. His frown seemed to deepen, his eyes glowing redder, and a look of exasperation settled on his features. “I haven’t got all day.”


End file.
